The Gray Cotton Panties

Susan always looked forward to Tuesday mornings at the tennis club. She loved the sport, which she had been playing since she was a girl. But what she enjoyed even more than the competition was the opportunity to show herself off in the cute little tennis outfits she always managed to wear.

And she had a lot to show off, too. Susan was in her early twenties—clearly in her physical prime. Her sensuous body still tight, breasts full, hips rounded, yet firm. She was not tall, just over five feet, but the look in her large, beautiful blue eyes revealed the force of personality that made her a young woman that people just wanted to spend time with—especially men.

Oh, she had no trouble at all attracting men. Every male from the age of 18 to 65 who frequented the club would nearly fall over themselves at merely the toss of Susan's silky blonde hair. The problem was, she was not a bit interested in any of them. They were just too easy to hold any fascination for her.

What was bugging Susan on this particular Tuesday morning was something that had grown increasingly irritating over the past month or so—the one male she was interested in at the club, Don Johnson, seemed not to know she existed. He must have had a standing reservation at 10 every Tuesday morning, just as Susan did, because she'd noticed him each time she had played for the past six weeks or so.

In truth, he was very hard not to notice, particularly for Susan, who had always had a preference for older men. The young guys who fawned over her constantly didn't interest her in the least. But Don Johnson . . . now there was a challenge . . . someone who would give her great satisfaction when she finally did manage to capture his attention. Yes, the word was "when," not "if."

She was not the only woman at the club who had her eyes on Johnson. He was tall—well over six feet, with an athletic build. He looked to be in his late 40's, as his hair was beginning to gray at the temples, but just as with most men, the little sprinkling of gray made him looked distinguished . . . and, to Susan, intriguing. His eyes were dark brown like his hair and when she managed to get close enough to him from time to time, she could see the little creases around his eyes that indicated he laughed a lot.

But what fascinated Susan most, other than the fact that she could not seem to get his attention, were his hands. They were strong and tanned, like the rest of his body, and so large that they actually made his tennis racket look smaller than normal. She couldn't help imagining how it would feel to have one of those big, strong hands gently caressing her cheek . . . or roughly pulling her body to his. Each of those images was equally appealing.

In an effort to catch Johnson's eye, Susan had for the past few weeks, paid special attention to her tennis outfits, trying always to choose one that accented her best features. She liked them to be a little snug in the top in order to accentuate her firm, round breasts. And she liked the skirts to be a little short . . . so that they would flutter as she moved, showing off her firm ass, which was always encased in the briefest, tightest tennis shorts she could find.

So it was on this particular Tuesday, as she walked toward Court 1 to meet her regular playing partner, Autumn, Susan thought she looked especially good. She had ordered another new outfit on the internet last week, and was delighted that it had arrived in time for today's match. It was a one-piece dress with a sleeveless top that fit her snugly, just as she liked. She especially liked the fact that the Nike swoosh rested just above her left breast, as if to direct all eyes to her full C cups.

The dress was a pale pink with a dark gray hem and matching belt, just to add a little flair. The skirt was just short enough that Susan wouldn't have to exert herself too much for it to flounce around and provide a little show to any of the men who might be watching that morning. She only hoped one of them would be Don Johnson.

She noticed that he was playing on Court 2 this morning, and she walked by just outside the backstop, checking him out from the corner of her eye as she passed. He and his playing partner were involved in an intense volley, and she could see the muscles in his tanned legs flex as he glided back and forth across the court, keeping the ball in play. She was trying to be inconspicuous as she tried to see if he had noticed her at all when she heard Autumn.

"Come on slow poke! Get over here and let's get started . . . that is unless there's another match you'd like to watch."

Just as Autumn spoke, Johnson won his point with a hard overhead smash and gave a brief glance toward Susan, who blushed and hurried over to join her playing partner.

"You know, Autumn, you can be a real bitch sometimes," Susan said tersely, as she joined her friend.

Autumn just laughed. "I'm just trying to help you get noticed by Mr. Dream Man. And if he doesn't notice you today in that outfit," she added as she looked Susan up and down, "he must be either blind or gay."

"Do you like it?" Susan asked, forgetting her irritation. "It just came in yesterday."

"It really looks good on you," Autumn responded. "If only your game was as good as your fashion sense. Of course," she said with a wink, "we know you're not just here for the tennis."

"Let's get started," Susan teased back. "I'll show you I can look good and still kick your butt."

The two women loosened up for awhile, volleying back and forth, until Autumn hit one into the net. As she trotted up to retrieve it, she motioned for Susan to join her there at mid court.

"Did you forget something today?" Autumn asked as Susan reached the net. She had a little half-smile on her face.

"What do you mean?" Susan responded, puzzled.

"I mean this," Autumn explained as she lifted the hem of Susan's tennis dress just far enough to reveal a pair of gray cotton panties.

"Oh, shit," whispered Susan. "I can't believe I forgot my tennis shorts. Most of my outfits have them built into the skirt, and I just didn't realize . . ."

"Yeah, right," Autumn laughed. "You were just wanting to show off a little more of your ass to Mr. McDreamy over there."

"I was not!" Susan huffed. "I just got dressed in a hurry and didn't think."

"Whatever you say," Autumn teased, as she went back to the service line so they could start the first game. "Maybe you'll have to be a little careful how you move and I'll be able to beat you."

For the next hour, Susan and Autumn played their usual close match, each of the points hotly contested. As she moved around the court, reaching out to return a forehand or stretching for a backhand, Susan was acutely aware that she was not quite fully outfitted. With each movement, her skirt would flip up, once again revealing her gray panties to anyone who happened to be watching. Every now and then, she'd sneak a glance to see if HE had noticed. She felt this strange combination of embarrassment and excitement to think that she was showing herself off that way.

It wasn't long before Susan could feel the gray cotton becoming moist, and she knew it wasn't only from the exertion of the match.

Susan glanced at her watch before tossing the ball in the air for her next serve and realized that their two hours of court time was almost up. It looked as if it was going to be just another day of tennis . . . that Don Johnson would go his way once again without noticing her. So she decided she might as well concentrate on tennis these last few minutes, and she exerted herself a bit extra in order to win the final point from Autumn.

But as she was trying to retreat quickly to reach one of Autumn's forehand lobs, Susan felt her ankle give way and a sharp pain shot from her foot, all the way up past her knee. "Oh, shit!" she cried out, the pain so intense that she thought nothing of who might be listening. She collapsed on the court in a heap and quickly reached down and started massaging her right ankle.

"What happened?" Autumn said, as she came rushing from the other side of the net. "Are you okay?" The expression on her face indicated genuine concern.

"It's okay," Susan responded through clenched teeth, "I just twisted my ankle. It'll be okay in a minute."

"Here, let me help you over to the bench," she said, pointing to the bleachers that sat outside the courts so spectators would have a place to sit as they watched the various club tournaments. But as Autumn tried to help Susan stand, the ankle gave way, and it was clear that it was going to take more than Autumn to get her off the court, where she still lay, grimacing in pain.

"Is there something I can do to help?" The deep voice startled Susan as she looked up to see the imposing figure of Don Johnson standing over her.

"Well . . . I . . . uh," she stammered, quite flustered by the fact that her first notice by Don Johnson had come when she was sprawled awkwardly in the middle of the tennis court. This was not at all the meeting she had in mind.

"Would you mind helping her over to the bleachers?" Autumn chimed in quickly, rescuing Susan from her temporary speechlessness. "I tried to help her walk, but I think it's gonna take more strength than I have."

"I'd be glad to," Johnson replied, and without another word, he reached down and scooped Susan up in those two strong arms that she'd been admiring for the past couple of months. He carried her as if she was practically weightless, and Susan reached up reflexively and put her arms around his neck to steady herself. Her head just inches away from his muscular chest, she closed her eyes and took in his masculine scent—an intoxicating mixture of sweat, cologne and, simply, manliness.

Followed closely by Autumn, who had collected Susan's tennis racket, water bottle and bag, Johnson carried her over past the bleachers and gently sat her down on the lush grass, her back propped against the trunk of a large oak tree. "I think you might be more comfortable here," he explained. "You'll be out of the hot sun and you can stretch your leg all the way out." And with that, he knelt down and began to untie her shoe.

"Wait," Susan protested. "You don't need to . . ."

But before she could finish her sentence, Johnson interrupted, "Let me just take a look at it. Let's see how bad you're hurt." He had officially taken charge. And the thing was, Susan didn't mind at all.

As he slipped the shoe gently off her foot, Susan couldn't help but grimace in pain. The truth was, it hurt like hell! "I'm sorry," he said soothingly, "I'll try to be more careful." The last thing she wanted to do was to act like a baby in front of this man she'd been admiring for so long, so she bit her lip to keep from making another sound as he eased the sock off her foot.

When the pain subsided a little, Susan glanced up at Autumn, who was standing over them with this knowing little grin on her face. "Susan, honey," she said sweetly, "I'm gonna have to run. I promised Jeff a nooner and I never break a promise . . . at least not one like that." She winked conspiratorially and walked quickly back toward the clubhouse. All Susan could do was to stare at her back and wonder what was going to happen next.

"Sounds like she's got some lunch plans," Johnson grinned, the laugh lines appearing at the corners of his sexy brown eyes. "I hope I'm not keeping you from anything . . . like that," he said with a wink.

"I . . . uh . . . no, not at all," Susan said haltingly. The warmth in her cheeks told her that she must be blushing--the last thing she wanted to do in a situation like this.

By this time Johnson had taken her ankle gently in one hand and began to massage it with the other. Her foot looked like a little girl's when he held it in those massive hands. She watched, fascinated, as he continued to rub and caress the sore ankle, now and then running his hand just a little farther up her leg to see how far the swelling might extend.

The pain began to subside a bit, so Susan leaned her head back against the big tree and relaxed as Johnson continued to tend to her ankle. His hands may have been massive, but he was extremely gentle. She closed her eyes and just enjoyed the sensation of his touch.

In a few moments, she felt his hand make its way higher, almost to her knee. This unexpected touch caused her to open her eyes, and when she did, she noticed Johnson's dark eyes fixed, not on her ankle, but rather on that tender spot where her inner thighs came together much higher up. Her thighs were pressed close enough together that she was sure he hadn't seen anything that he shouldn't . . . yet anyway. But the idea that this gorgeous man that she'd been admiring for so long was trying to look up her skirt made her blush and turned her on, all at the same time.

It was then that she became acutely aware that she was not wearing her usual tennis shorts. The only thing between Susan's most intimate place and the exploring eyes of Don Johnson was a pair of gray cotton panties . . . panties that were already moist from some of the naughty fantasies she'd been having about him earlier . . . panties that were getting wetter and wetter all the time.

Just as Susan was trying to decide whether or not she should say something, pull her leg out of his grasp, or do nothing at all, Johnson looked up and their eyes met. But instead of acting embarrassed that he'd been caught peeking, he simply held Susan's gaze and gave her a sexy half-smile. Their eyes locked together, Susan was becoming more and more uncomfortable. But she was stubborn, too, and she did not intend to blink first. Apparently, neither did Johnson, because he just continued to bore into her with those sexy brown eyes.

To make matters worse, he seemed to be concentrating a lot more on the part of her leg above the knee than below. Finally, he spoke. "I don't think you've done any serious damage. I'm sure it's just a sprain. It's one of those things that hurts like hell at first, but it'll be better before you know it. As a matter of fact, I have just the thing for you in my car. Just stay here while I get it."

And with that, Johnson got up and jogged across the broad lawn toward the parking lot about half a block away. Susan wondered whether she should try and get up on her own and put an end to whatever it was that Johnson was doing a minute ago. On the other hand, it felt really nice . . . having him touch her like that. It was exciting and, for some reason, seemed a little dangerous, too.

But before she could decide whether to try and leave or stay and see what happened, Johnson was back. He was carrying a small package in one hand and his tennis shoes in the other. Susan looked up, puzzled. "What's with the shoes?"

"Oh, after I play for a couple of hours I just need to give my feet a little rest. I can't wait to get out of these things. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, that's fine," she responded. "Under different circumstances, I'd have mine off by now, too. Well, I mean, I'd have the other one off," Susan giggled as she looked at her one bare foot with the slightly swollen ankle.

"Okay, what's in the other hand?" she asked.

"It's a cold pack, just what you need to keep the swelling down on that ankle," he explained. "You don't even need any ice. You just sort of shake it up and some chemicals mix together and it gets cold. I always keep one with me when I'm playing tennis, just in case."

With that, Johnson sat down near Susan's feet and extended his long, muscular legs out in front of him. "Here, put that leg up here and I'll put this on for you." He proceeded to raise her injured foot until it was resting on his thigh and put the cold pack on.

Susan gasped a little when the cold plastic came into contact with her tender ankle, but when Johnson looked up, she gave him what she hoped was a brave little smile. After all, she didn't want this sexy older man to think she was some kind of a baby.

"There," he said when he had finished wrapping her ankle with the cold pack, "that ought to do it."

With that, Susan started to move her foot from where it was resting on his thigh, but Johnson stopped her. "I think you should just keep it elevated for a little while. That and the ice will make you good as new before you know it. Besides," he winked, "I'm not through giving you that leg massage."

Susan could feel the butterflies in her stomach at Johnson's words. She didn't know whether to get up and leave right now or wait a little and see what happened. "Oh well, she thought to herself, "I've gone this far. Might as well see what happens."

Without saying another word, Johnson began again to massage Susan's leg, from the calf muscle just above the injured ankle, on up to her knee, then back down again. His touch was practiced, soothing. He moved his hands up and down like that for a few minutes, before they once again slid a little higher to her upper thigh. And each time he pushed his hand above her knee, he seemed to raise her skirt just a little higher, too. Once again, she thought of the gray cotton panties that now were only inches above his exploring hands. The thought of Johnson seeing them . . . and seeing how wet they were . . . elicited a feeling in Susan's gut that lay somewhere between panic and arousal.

Apparently sensing that Susan was tensing up, Johnson abruptly stopped his attentions to the injured leg and took hold of her other one. "This one looks like it could use a little attention, too," he said as he quickly removed her other shoe and sock and grasped her leg by the calf.

What happened next surprised even Susan . . . and she thought she'd seen about every move a guy could make. But Johnson had a new one. Before she knew quite what was happening, he had taken one leg and moved it outward, resulting in her thighs being much too far apart for comfort, especially given what was under . . . or not under . . . her short tennis skirt. Her big blue eyes got even bigger as he slid one foot between her open thighs and pressed it against her pussy.

Susan opened her mouth to say something . . . anything, but Johnson just put his finger to his lips and softly said, "Shhhhh. I think there may be something else that needs some attention." And with that, he began to massage her calf tenderly, while his foot pressed harder into her and began another type of massage . . . this one much more intimate.

She really didn't know what to do at this point. What he was doing felt so good. And he was such an amazingly good looking man. And she had been lusting after him for weeks. What could she do? She knew she should probably jump up and run away as fast as her injured ankle would allow. But she knew she'd always wonder what might have happened. Instead, she looked around to see if anyone was in the immediate vicinity, close enough to see what was going on. When she was satisfied they were not, Susan simply leaned her head back against the big oak tree, closed her eyes, and went with the feeling.

Sensing that he now had permission, Johnson pulled his foot away from her for just a moment, long enough to use it to push her skirt upward. Susan could feel that it was high enough up on her thighs that he could surely see by now that she had forgotten her tennis shorts. And he could most certainly see how wet her panties had become. But rather than making her feel embarrassed, the thought of him looking at her so intimately like that just turned her on even more.

"Mmmmmm," Susan whispered as Johnson brought his foot in contact with her pussy again. But this time, instead of letting him do all the work, she began to move her hips slowly, trying to match the rhythm of his movements. Every now and then, he would move his foot away a little and run his big toe up and down the length of her slit. He even used it to press the wet gray cotton inside her now-swollen lips. That sensation brought on the first little ripples in Susan's tight tunnel, signaling that her orgasm was getting close. Sensing that she was enjoying the teasing with his toe, Johnson continued caressing her with it and managed to press it against her throbbing clit.